


Presentation

by ThoseFiveChicks



Series: Grace's Magical AU [4]
Category: Maggot Boy
Genre: Alan is a douchebag, Established Relationship, I NEED TO WORK MICAH INTO A FIC IN A REAL WAY, M/M, first chronologically, potentially the worst thing I've ever written?, sleepy morning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 09:50:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1894530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoseFiveChicks/pseuds/ThoseFiveChicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Presentation rarely goes unnoticed, and public presentation is practically a spectator sport.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Presentation

The sun sliding in through the window woke him, and the ringing chime only furthered the sun's point— it was time to get up, get dressed, and pray to the higher power of his choosing that he'd remembered all of his homework.

But on a morning like this, a cold, sleepy Tuesday with his boyfriend curled up against him, it was hard to _want_ to get out of bed. A second chime reminded him he had to, and he reluctantly got out of bed. Owen slept on, but until the third chime it would be best to let his sick boyfriend lie.

It was the same routine every morning— get up, get dressed, see if Owen was awake, wash up, wake Owen up for real, and sit with a book, a tome, or finish up an assignment.

When the third chime ran out, Owen rose, kissing Parker on the top of the head as he passed. This was part of the routine as well, and it was the little things that made their routine so... them. Today it was a tome, tomorrow it could be a newspaper, but he would always be reading when Owen walked past for a kiss, and when the fourth chime went off, Owen would link their thumbs as they walked down to breakfast.

“You ready, Owen?” he called as the fourth chime rang out. “Breakfast is starting.”

“Can't get my fucking tie to tie!” Owen called back.

“Well, come out here and I'll tie it for you, moron.”

“Why are you the smart one?”

“Because God forbid you be smart.”

Owen came out of the side room, a crumpled tie around his neck. “You should definitely dress like that more often,” Parker commented appreciatively.

“How?”

“Formal, but without your robe or coat and with your tie hanging halfway off your neck.”

“Yeah, well, help me with this tie or not?”

Parker merely laughed, taking the tie from Owen and tying it properly for him. “You've gotta learn to tie this.”

“I can, just... not today.”

“You're shaking... sure you're okay?”

“Fine, Parker. I'm just a little sick is all.”

He hadn't thrown up, and his voice still sounded alright. The only symptoms as of yet were the shaking and the slight fever. Neither one of them had any idea what was going on, but Owen had said he felt fine, and Parker had gone along with it.

“Alright. Anyway, we ready to head down?”

“Yeah, let's go.”

“Wait, actually, hold up a second.”

“What is it now, Princess?”

“I think... I dunno, I just sort of have this feeling that I'm going to need a praetor today. You can go, I just wanna conjure one before I leave.”

“I'll stay, it's okay.”

“Alright, so no wolf?”

“The wolf is terrifying, Parker.”

“So a lion. Take a shuffle back?”

Owen smirked, taking two steps back from Parker. Parker raised his hands, breathing out a little puff of Power out through his nose as he began the spell.

“Show-off,” Owen muttered, and Parker smiled over his shoulder as the spell kicked up, mist swirling into being and shape, roaring as Parker formed it into a shape, the shape of a lion rearing on its back legs, head to the sky. A little Latin and a sizzle later, a fully formed lion of mist paced the air about six inches off the floor. It bared its teeth at Owen, but with a twitch of Parker's fingers it was calm. A few more gestures and the lion laid down, lolling its tongue out.

“Alright, now we go,” said Parker, gesturing to the lion to follow him.

“You'll be a Blue, I bet.”

“A Blue, huh? Probably. Maybe White for you.”

“White?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Nah. But anyway, let's go to breakfast? I'm hungry.”

“Yes, let's go.”

Linked thumbs, misty lion in tow, they made their way to the as-always uneventful breakfast. They were sorted by Type at meals, and Micah had already presented as a Black mage. Most of the rest of their year had yet to present, and they ate at the long table on the far wall, a few various praetors curled happily under the bench, removing and feasting on any negative energies in the hall. They were handy to have around, praetors. Protectors in every way, really.

“Hey fag!” called a familiar voice, and the lion at Parker's feet tensed. The owner of the voice slammed his hands down on the table, pushing aside a younger student in doing so.

“Oh, um, hi Alan,” Parker replied, gaining a sudden interest in his food.

“What's up, you little co—”

He didn't get any further, because beside Parker Owen was lighting up like a torch. The red was clouding out around him, crackling at his hands and sparking off his hair.

Alan turned to walk back to his own table, but he didn't make it very far. The Power radiating off of Owen knew who had set Owen off— because that was how presenting worked, something that irritated you, perhaps just a little, resulted in a magical melt down that set the hackles up on praetors and sent smart kids running. Anyone with an active praetor was alright, but those without just needed to duck or run— and it sought him out, shock after shock of Power rolling through Alan as Parker desperately tried to think of the proper words to tell the praetor to try to absorb Owen's energy— this was what he got for not paying attention in Latin!

No, there were hand commands to ask a praetor for calm, this was stupid! A sharp twist of his wrist, a flick towards Owen, and a sharp jerk towards his own heart and the lion was snuggling up to Owen, happily feasting on the presentation energy that it could get so rarely. The Power continued to flow out of Owen, less and less with every passing second.

And soon enough, the Power was gone, Owen slumping against the back of the bench. The red was gone, except for sparky in his hair, red settling in at the roots. The praetor sat down, whining as it curled up under the table.

“Did I just present?” he asked groggily, sitting up.

Parker only laughed.

 


End file.
